The Dead and The Living
by Mister Kitty
Summary: Zombies now roam the world. People have changed. Alfred is just a lonely guy trying to survive. Arthur is a hot headed Englishman caught up in the circumstances. Killing zombies is much easier than the two of them dealing with each other. AU. AlfredxArthur.


Everyone was dead.

His family.

His friends.

They were all gone.

Alfred was alone in this new shit hole of a world. His purpose, if he even had one anymore, was unclear. He was cold, hungry, and tired. Most of all, he was sick of fighting. Sick of waiting, waiting for the next wave of zombies to surround him. He hated the slimy, rotting faces gnashing at him with ugly, soulless eyes. Death was a stench meant to be hidden away from the living, buried deep beneath the ground. But this, this world was now overrun with those who no longer lived. The dead roamed, eating at the flesh of the true living. The lines of reality that were once blurred, were now completely nonexistent.

The road stretched onward for miles upon miles. The pavement was littered with trash, cars of every model and make, rotting corpses, and the monsters that staggered back and forth in an uncoordinated and random movement. The moans, grunting, and the perfume of death followed them wherever their mindless clothed bodies took them. Nothing went untouched. Animals were just as much of a buffet as an unfortunate human would be to these undiscriminating beasts that were once normal, regular people some time before.

A zombie, closest to where Alfred was hiding, wore a long and probably once beautiful dress, her silver streaked hair was still tied back into a tight bun upon her small head. She could have been someone's mother, sister, or friend, but now she was nothing. His conscious felt no guilt when he killed, when he stole, and when he lied. Survival was not moral. He had to do whatever he needed to live to suffer through another day. Alfred could easily say that he had done no wrong to others to end their chance of survival, but unfortunately he had not seen a single soul in months. He was unintentionally stuck in haunting seclusion.

Food was becoming more scarce. Everything that Alfred hated and refused to eat before the world went to hell was the only food that was left in the abandoned small towns of good ole USA. When the first reporting of the outbreak came out, the government reassured the people that they would be safe. The army would control the problem, pass out water and food, if necessary. There was no need for the public to panic, they said. Lock your doors, you'll be safe.. In the end, they lied. Nothing was safe. Nothing was done. How many were dead now? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?

Alfred was alive, but he felt as dead as the zombies looked, his heart and soul dying as the days and time went on. It was nearing the middle of October or maybe was it was September. There were little ways for him to remember. The pocket calender he once carried was now forever lost. Useless items were a burden, his old high school backpack became lighter when necessary. Too much strain on one's back was something that should be always be avoided.

During the nights, he would try to find a place void of zombies. Sometimes he would sleep inside caves, after making them somewhat secure. And other times, cars or even empty sheds or houses suited his needs. He would never stay in a house with the remains of the previous owners still inside. The family pictures in almost every home stared back at him from the walls, reminding him of the great losses that he and everyone else experienced. Alfred would cry himself to sleep if he had tears left to shed.

One place and then another, endless travel. Alfred was looking for life and life was looking for him. The damaged road sign up ahead read "Paris." He exhaled, stepping on the gas pedal ever so slightly. The only perks of this change in lifestyle was the choice of rides. Taking a car was as easy as sliding in and starting up the engine, taking into account of how much gas is in the tank, if any at all. Sports cars were his favorite, but for now he drove an old Chevy truck.

"What I wouldn't give for some mouthwatering McDonald's burgers and some french fries.." he whispered simply to himself. Talking to his own self was something that kept him sane, he believed it was necessary. The thoughts inside his head needed to come out, in some way or another. Talking, drawing in the dirt, dancing, whatever random thing, if it kept him from going completely nuts, he would do it. In all honesty, the quietness of the world was the true madness, not the zombies.

The town was small, like all the others he had roamed through. Only a few stores and a dozen or so residences. Everything was as usual. Dirty, destroyed, and empty..almost. Alfred pulled over on the side of the street and turned off the ignition. He watched a small zombie child stumble down from the stairs of a shop that probably once sold sweets from the sound of the name on the window. It didn't have the time to make it to his truck before a bullet when straight through its head.

Even before realizing what happened, Alfred was already surrounded. Not by masses of zombies, but instead of men and women pointing guns at his head from behind windows, on top of roofs, and on street level. A man knocked on his window and yelled threats, telling him to step out. With no other option in mind, Alfred did as told.

"Who the hell are you and why are you here?" asked the shorter, blond hair and green eyed male,who pointed his rifle directly in Alfred's face. "Speak up or I will kill you where you bloody stand." His eyebrows were thick, Alfred assumed he didn't the pleasure of beauty treatments like he used to. And what the hell was with his accent?

"I'm here to pick daisies and sing Mary Poppin's songs. Brit, why the hell do you think I'm here? To find supplies and survive, duh.." Alfred sarcastically replied, pushing the barrel away from his face. "Some welcome party you are. We're suppose to kill zombies, not people."

"Are you stupid? How am I supposed to know if you're not crazy, bitten, or dangerous..? We're trying to live safely. The more people we have here, the more dangerous things can get for us. Do you know how many plunderers have go through here?"

"No, but I.."

"Shit! Arthur!" screamed a voice from one of the rooftops. "Zombies! We gotta clear!"

Alfred and this man both turned their heads and watched in terror as the dead came into the town one by one, two by two, three by three, and so on..until there were many. Too many, in fact. When it came to fighting or fleeing, the people chose fleeing. Not so bad ass now, instead they were reduced to screaming children.

"Well?! Start the bloody thing!" snapped the Englishman, clutching his gun in his arms, already somehow inside Alfred's truck without him knowing.

Alfred crawled back inside the driver's seat, taking his sweet time to buckle up. "I thought you said I might be dangerous or crazy?"

"Just fucking drive!"

* * *

**A/N: Inspired by "The Walking Dead." :d **


End file.
